1) It all started in the morning, when I saw a woman in an electric wheelchair popping a wheelie across the street. at first I thought "cool" But now I wonder, hmm, maybe her chair has a short in it and she's zooming out of control. Oh, well, I'm sure we'll hear about it on the news.
2) A woman comes to my cash register. A) She's buying a handful of materiality sized dresses. B) she has a big stomach. C) She's complaining to me that she has to "live in these dresses." So with these pieces of evidence, I assume that she's tired of the lack pregnancy attire and can't wait to slim back to normal. To which she says: "What makes you think I'm fat?" Which of course I say: " Well, after a while, you'll lose all the weight." To which she says: "Maybe I like the way that I am." Which raises my antenna that she's not pregnant! just fat!
Stranger still than both of these, I got my yearly review or as I like to call it: 'here we go again.' But it was actually positive. I don't think it was because I became Mr. super Target team member, go-for-it bull shit. just that I've learned what their tolerance level is for talking to me and I try to stay right above that level. Perhaps they thought that since I'm hovering above shit level like a woman levitating over a toilet in a public rest room, than I've joined the herd–brohoof!
Ain't gonna happen.
I notice that the drug dealing kid across the street has had a lot of his Bronnies coming and going lately. I actually thought he had quit the whole "illegal" thing. No reason for the air quotes, I just like using them. Then again, maybe he's not selling pot anymore, maybe he and his friends are setting up an internet company or a baby sitting service, or perhaps a combo–a service that sells drugs and babies over the internet. As for my business I don't like the fact I have to go back to art to try to dig myself out of another hole. Art should be a journey, not a distraction or the blue pill that fools you into thinking everything is going to be all right. Because it's not. Shit's going to happen (is it shit's or shits?). Sure, I had a good day today, but I'm sure a bad day is right around the corner, holding a baseball bat with nails in it. But so what. It's going to be there one way or another. At least I'll have lots of pretty pictures in the world with my name on them, even if they don't sell. Whenever they talk about the famous artist that made lots of great art but never made a dime, they always talk about Van Gough. It's like some lesson to the failed artist: "Don't worry, you're not famous now, but when you're dead, you're gonna be rich...in heaven or hell." That's a question, is it better to be rich in heaven or hell? In heaven You really can't have a room full of strippers lying down in a row as you play a sexy game of steam roller, I'm pretty sure the Evangelical god hates that. On the other hand, I'm sure in hell there are no relaxing zen gardens where you can just chill out without somebody bothering you and offering you cocaine or a firey, demon blow job.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Van Gough died and then became rich in hell. Big deal for him. I really have no interest in waiting until death before I sell an art piece, I want my stripper steamroller game now! What I have learned about trying to sell art is it's 5% talent, 35% who you know and 60% attitude. Back when I worked at Binder's Art Supplies in Atlanta, There was this guy I had to work with, let's call him Loud Mouth. L.M was a terrible artist. His paintings sucked and I'm not being petty. But L.M. Was good at one thing. He talked and bullshited about how great he was and was good at selling his awful shit for a thousand dollars a pop. What he would do was do a painting of a non-famous basketball player, take some photo's of that portrait (as horrible as it looked) to a game and show it to the player who would flip because after all, no one ever noticed them when they sit on the bench all the time. So he not only found a market but he was able to sell himself. Brohoof to him for that, negative props for society for supporting bad art. I saw a lot of bad art t that job, Once, a lesbian couple came in with a nice painting of yellow sun flowers on a blue back ground. They had us frame it with a brown mat and a black frame. It looked like shit. Perhaps they did it that way to match their ugly dog-stained furniture at home. I hated that job. I was really bad at framing and this guy that made the frames, called from another location and was complaining about how bad of a framing job I was doing. By this point, I was moving to California, so I hung up on him. Lick my balls! (I wish I had also said).
I was also dating a girl at work, I use the term dating loosely because after all we had been doing(stripper steam roller) while her boyfriend was in jail for urinating on the sidewalk (not a joke), as soon as he got out of jail, she let him move in with her. This was after me and my good friends helped her move out of her old apartment in one night, not an easy task because she apparently never heard of closets, drawers or anything else you put your stuff in. Clothes and crap were all over the floor and had to be packed away. So We broke things off and I had to work RIGHT NEXT TO HER! You talk about torture and suffering. Then she started dating this customer. I have no idea what happened to Mr. urine. Can you imagine working next to someone you dated and then they start dating someone that gets paraded in front of you?
There is a happy sequel tough.Because of what she did, I had no reason to stay in Atlanta.I moved to California and have a wife and kids. Without her horrible actions, my kids would have never been born!!! If we had stayed together with our Jerry Springier life, I'm sure she would have repeatedly cheated on me and heaven forbid if we lived together, our floor would have had a 2 feet deep carpet of garbage. Whew! That was a close one!.
Lesson, the red pill sucks but at least you get out of the Matrix.
That's it, E.M.
Stranger still than both of these, I got my yearly review or as I like to call it: 'here we go again.' But it was actually positive. I don't think it was because I became Mr. super Target team member, go-for-it bull shit. just that I've learned what their tolerance level is for talking to me and I try to stay right above that level. Perhaps they thought that since I'm hovering above shit level like a woman levitating over a toilet in a public rest room, than I've joined the herd–brohoof!
I notice that the drug dealing kid across the street has had a lot of his Bronnies coming and going lately. I actually thought he had quit the whole "illegal" thing. No reason for the air quotes, I just like using them. Then again, maybe he's not selling pot anymore, maybe he and his friends are setting up an internet company or a baby sitting service, or perhaps a combo–a service that sells drugs and babies over the internet. As for my business I don't like the fact I have to go back to art to try to dig myself out of another hole. Art should be a journey, not a distraction or the blue pill that fools you into thinking everything is going to be all right. Because it's not. Shit's going to happen (is it shit's or shits?). Sure, I had a good day today, but I'm sure a bad day is right around the corner, holding a baseball bat with nails in it. But so what. It's going to be there one way or another. At least I'll have lots of pretty pictures in the world with my name on them, even if they don't sell. Whenever they talk about the famous artist that made lots of great art but never made a dime, they always talk about Van Gough. It's like some lesson to the failed artist: "Don't worry, you're not famous now, but when you're dead, you're gonna be rich...in heaven or hell." That's a question, is it better to be rich in heaven or hell? In heaven You really can't have a room full of strippers lying down in a row as you play a sexy game of steam roller, I'm pretty sure the Evangelical god hates that. On the other hand, I'm sure in hell there are no relaxing zen gardens where you can just chill out without somebody bothering you and offering you cocaine or a firey, demon blow job.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Van Gough died and then became rich in hell. Big deal for him. I really have no interest in waiting until death before I sell an art piece, I want my stripper steamroller game now! What I have learned about trying to sell art is it's 5% talent, 35% who you know and 60% attitude. Back when I worked at Binder's Art Supplies in Atlanta, There was this guy I had to work with, let's call him Loud Mouth. L.M was a terrible artist. His paintings sucked and I'm not being petty. But L.M. Was good at one thing. He talked and bullshited about how great he was and was good at selling his awful shit for a thousand dollars a pop. What he would do was do a painting of a non-famous basketball player, take some photo's of that portrait (as horrible as it looked) to a game and show it to the player who would flip because after all, no one ever noticed them when they sit on the bench all the time. So he not only found a market but he was able to sell himself. Brohoof to him for that, negative props for society for supporting bad art. I saw a lot of bad art t that job, Once, a lesbian couple came in with a nice painting of yellow sun flowers on a blue back ground. They had us frame it with a brown mat and a black frame. It looked like shit. Perhaps they did it that way to match their ugly dog-stained furniture at home. I hated that job. I was really bad at framing and this guy that made the frames, called from another location and was complaining about how bad of a framing job I was doing. By this point, I was moving to California, so I hung up on him. Lick my balls! (I wish I had also said).
I was also dating a girl at work, I use the term dating loosely because after all we had been doing(stripper steam roller) while her boyfriend was in jail for urinating on the sidewalk (not a joke), as soon as he got out of jail, she let him move in with her. This was after me and my good friends helped her move out of her old apartment in one night, not an easy task because she apparently never heard of closets, drawers or anything else you put your stuff in. Clothes and crap were all over the floor and had to be packed away. So We broke things off and I had to work RIGHT NEXT TO HER! You talk about torture and suffering. Then she started dating this customer. I have no idea what happened to Mr. urine. Can you imagine working next to someone you dated and then they start dating someone that gets paraded in front of you?
There is a happy sequel tough.Because of what she did, I had no reason to stay in Atlanta.I moved to California and have a wife and kids. Without her horrible actions, my kids would have never been born!!! If we had stayed together with our Jerry Springier life, I'm sure she would have repeatedly cheated on me and heaven forbid if we lived together, our floor would have had a 2 feet deep carpet of garbage. Whew! That was a close one!.
Lesson, the red pill sucks but at least you get out of the Matrix.
That's it, E.M.
Aw, that's so sweet. And disturbing.
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